


Alternia Noire

by spaceship2nowhere



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Noir, Assassins & Hitmen, Blood and Injury, F/M, Gritty, Organized Crime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-15
Updated: 2014-07-19
Packaged: 2018-02-08 23:00:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 10,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1959372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spaceship2nowhere/pseuds/spaceship2nowhere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Noir AU: Eridan Ampora has been the Empire's favorite assassin for years now, taking the lives of any and all who would trespass against the will of the empress and her high bloods, but all it takes is one bad job to make the whole thing fall like a house of cards.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My first actual fan-fic.   
> Please, feel free to comment and share what you think. Any critique on the work is greatly appreciated.

We meet in the early evening, at a hotel restaurant with tasteful decor and inflated prices. The kind of place where it's hard to get a reservation and the wait list fits on several pages. The walls are painted with a red and gold pattern that matches the carpet, matches the chairs and the booths, and matches the drapes on the windows. The waiting staff carry large trays of who knows what over-priced food. There’s a wine bottle on ice and lit candle in the center of our table The idea of a dinner for two in this kind place sounds kind of romantic, and I might've considered it a poor excuse for date if I didn't know the woman I was meeting with so well. She sat in front of me, wearing a long midnight blue dress, slowly enjoying a bowl of tomato soup spoonful by spoonful. I sipped a chilled glass of water, no ice. Neither of us have touched the wine. "What's with the scarf?" She asks, pointing one of the metal fingers of her prosthetic hand at the strip of blue and black wool around my neck. 

"It's getting chilly out there." I reply "And I don't want to risk a throat cold." She takes a another spoonful of soup and shrugs off my response.

She looks down at a manila folder sitting on the table, then hands it over to me. "All the information you'll need is in there." She says, as I flip open the cover and slide the contents out in front me. I start to look through the paper inside. Notes, schedules, letters, and 4 different photo's of the same person taken at different angles. The man in each of the photos has a bush of thick, curly black hair, a lanky body, dopey eyes and the same stupid grin in every shot. His face was painted in makeup that made him look like a demented mime. I immediately dislike him.

"So, what’s his story?” I ask. “What he do to piss you off?" 

She yawns. "Eridan, have you ever worked with someone who was so obviously out of their fucking mind that you morbidly wonder how long it’ll be before they try to kill you?"  
She asks nonchalantly, looking at her nails. They're painted to match her dress, the same striking blue shade. The nail on the middle finger is longer than the rest, decorated with a spider design. I cross my arms and say no comment. All she does is roll her eyes. "Well, look, I don't know what you're policies are about working with psychotics, but my personal policy is I fucking don't."

“Hasn’t stopped you before.” I say, and she gives me a look of disdain. 

“I never liked working with purple-bloods. There all the same. Barely holding on to reality, barely even lucid. Fucking nutjobs, seriously, but this guy is like, he’s on a whole ‘nother level of fucked up.” I take a sip of water and let her continue. "His sanity, or lack thereof is a... threat to our stability. OURS, not just me. Usually, people we do business with can be reasoned with, to an extent. Usually they have the sense enough for that. Someone could talk to them, or I could get Equius to strong-arm them, but not this time. I can't do that with this looney fuck. You can't reason with someone without the mind to reason." I bend over, elbows on the table, flipping through the documents in the folder for details. I imagine this smiling powder keg ready to blow, the number of bodies that would stack if what she was saying was true. He may not look it, but I know to never underestimate a purple blooded psychopath.

“So, how'd you want it done?" I say after a second. 

She shrugs, dropping her spoon into the now shallow bowl with a small tink. "I'm only going to pay your standard rate, so you only have to give as much effort as fifteen grand will get me, okay?" 

I stand up, pick up the folder, and push in my chair. The pay was fine. Standard rate or not, I don’t really do it for the money anyway. "Alright. I’ll see to it by tonight. He won't be a fly in your soup much longer, Vriska." I tell her, and she can't help but give me a smirk of satisfaction

"And this is why you're my favorite problem solver, Eridan."

A concierge hands me my violet jacket at the door. The wool and stand up collar shields me from the cold winds of Alternia's winter. When the valet brings me my car, I drive it for about a 3 miles and a half, until I'm across the street from the targets apartment building. Taking an alleyway off the street proper. I park the car, then go around back and open the trunk. A homeless woman, who was digging out of a dumpster for bottles to cash in, looks at me strangely as I put on a pair of black leather gloves, pull out a grey duffle-bag from the trunk, slip it over my shoulder, and then precede to climb the fire escape of a building to my right. The metal stairs and railings are slickly coated with a thin layer of last night's rain that turned into frost in the freezing wind

I go up until I reach the roof of the building, careful not to slip on the ice. I open a piece of paper I had folded in my coat pocket, taken from the folder Vriska gave me. It's an address and a phone number. I start counting windows of the apartment building across the street, getting the right floor up and the right apartment number across. I walk following my count until I’m more or less where I need to be, then I lay duffel-bag down and pull out a rolled up blanket. I lay it on the part of the roof right before the ledge,directly across the targets kitchen window. I kneel on the blanket and piece by piece, start assembling my tool from out of the bag.

Ahab's Crosshairs, my weapon of choice. A synthetic stock and scope tinted dark violet. Stainless steel barrel, chamber, and firing mechanism, polished to shine like platinum. It's accuracy, power, and low recoil make it one of a kind. Bolt action, anti-material, .50 caliber. Powerful enough to cut through concrete like it was construction paper. Heavy, but elegant, and a few months of handling it had made me accustomed to the weight. It only ever took one shot with this gun. One pull of the trigger, and the shot, like a spear of pure white light, will make anything drop like a bull elephant. One squeeze, one blast, one hole, and the target wouldn't be getting back up. Precision, and elegance.

I look at the address and apartment number again, recounting windows with my fingers to make sure I have the right place, then I pull out a disposable cell-phone and dial the number. After three rings, the light in the window turns on. The light gives a good view of the apartment's kitchen. Through the scope, I see a refrigerator and a counter top with a corded phone sitting next to a toaster. Most people don't have landlines anymore, but the fact that he still does makes this much easier. When the target enters the kitchen and picks up the phone, his body faces the window, and I have the perfect shot. I put my cell-phone on speaker mode, then set it down on the blanket next to me. I wrap my gloved finger around the trigger of the gun, and the leather squeaks ever so slightly. "Is this Gamzee Makara?" I ask when the target puts the phone to his ear. Black t-shirt, and polka-dot pajama pants. 

Through the scope, I see the target crack a smile, and reply in upbeat tone "Yeah, that's me, brother." I squeeze the trigger then the rifle kicks back. There’s a boom so loud a deaf man might cover his ears, then my target falls back, hole in his chest. He hits the refrigerator behind him and slides down, leaving a streak of blood the color of grape jelly. There’s a dent in the fridge door.

I take apart the rifle, pick-up up my blanket and phone, and put everything back in the duffel-bag. After I descend back off the fire escape, far away, I can hear sirens, getting louder every second, and I want to be where they aren’t. When I put the bag back in my trunk, I see the homeless woman again. Standing by a flaming barrel for warmth, awkward. Torn gloves on her hands, a stained wool coat hanging off her, several sizes too big. She’s young, but the burdens of this urban jungle have clawed at her, making her look ragged, weak. Her big eyes filled with sadness, glassy, tired, and bloodshot. The sounds of cats meowing come from somewhere behind her. We look at each other for a moment, say nothing, then I climb in my car when the impending police sirens bring me back to reality.


	2. Chapter 2

“I believe that it may defeat the purpose of the scarf and coat, if it’s twenty degrees outside and you still take your drinks with ice.” Rose tells me, as she pours more vodka in my glass. I take the drink, and put it to my lips, sipping until the ice clinked together, empty. 

I look at Rose, motion my hand to the empty glass, she sighs quietly, irritated, then fills it back up. “If I take vodka with ice, it makes me look controlled. Like I know what I’m doing. Straight vodka, and I’ll look like a drunk.” It’s late, on a Wednesday. Ten days ago, I shot down Gamzee Makara, and now I’m at my third drink. The lounge is mostly empty. A few people sit here and there, in booths together or seated alone, but I’m the only one getting served at the bar. Frost has gathered on the window sill to my left. This winter feels like it’s been going on for too long.

In my peripheral vision, I see a woman sit next to me at the bar. Black stockings, white sweater, white skirt, and matching white heeled boots. Shoulder length blonde hair, dark make-up on her eyes and a pink scarf around her neck. “Rosey, darlin’” The woman begins, getting the attention of the bartender. “See my hand?” She lifts a perfectly manicured hand and turns it around, letting us see every angle. “Notice a problem? Like something’s missing maybe?” 

I don’t see anything abnormal, but Rose rolls her eyes. The woman’s black lipsticked mouth curls into a smile as Rose begins to fix a martini. “Love you, babe.”

Rose finishes preparing the drink and the second it gets set on the bar, the woman takes it and starts to down it in a heartbeat. “One does not need astute powers of observation to see what you want. After all, what else is there to do in bar besides slowly drown yourself in liquors until you succumb to alcohol poisoning?”

The woman drinks the martini gleefully, then puts down the mostly empty glass and says “Well, you can get food poisoning too, if they serve meals. You can also have some fun with a stranger, if they you want, in the bathroom… after a few drinks of course… or not, whatever.” Rose sighs loudly and the other woman giggles, then she looks over to me. “Or you can meet a stranger for some fun at there place later.” We make eye-contact and she winks at me.

“So, Rose, who’s your tall, dark, and handsome friend over here?” the stranger asks. 

Rose looks over at me and and narrows her eyes. “I wouldn’t say he’s much of a friend, as much as just a repeat customer.” 

The woman giggles again. “So, stranger, that answers one question. You do come around her often.” She takes the olive resting on the brim of the glass, puts it into her mouth and slides out the toothpick.

“I come around here about once a week.” I say, finishing my own drink, then letting Rose fill it back up with vodka, before she turns to do other bartender routines like cutting limes, cleaning his glasses, or whatever. “The drinks are reasonably priced, the decor is to my taste, and the service…” I look over at Rose, while she places clean glasses underneath the bar. “The service could be better, but I’m not getting thrown out, so it’s fine..”

The woman smiles, chews the olive quickly and swallows. “Rosey has never been the most social of person. Frankly, I thought that you’d have to be more of a people-person to get this job, but she seems pretty happy with the gig, so I guess it doesn’t matter.” The woman extends out her hand. “I’m Roxy, by the way. Roxy Lalonde.” I take her hand gingerly, then raise to my head and plant a soft kiss pass the knuckles. Roxy giggles and I can hear Rose sigh loudly. 

“Lalonde?” I ask, looking back and forth between Roxy and Rose. “Rose Lalonde and Roxy Lalonde. Are you two sisters or…?” Roxy starts to laugh again and I wonder if i said something funny. 

“As if the hair and makeup wasn’t a dead give away. We’re related, correct, but our relationship is much more... complicated in that respect, than just sisters.” Rose says, taking Roxy’s empty glass and making her a second drink. I know better than to ask more questions after that.

“Well, you got mine, stranger. So, what’s your name?” Roxy ask, taking her second martini in her delicate fingers and sipping it while stealing glances at me. 

“Eridan Ampora.” I say, getting to my drink. The ice has started to shrink in the vodka, watering it down, but I don’t really care.

“Well, Eridan, what do you do for a living?”

Rose looks over at Roxy and says “He does the same thing you do, except more privately.” Roxy’s expression changes immediately. Her smile shrinks into something more devious and her eyebrows go up. She looks over at Rose, then me, then Rose again. There’s a second of silence, then her expression softens back to the way it was before.  
“You’re a Cleaner too, huh?” Roxy asks. “Well, what do you use?” I down the rest of vodka, and leave the glass on the table. Roxy Lalonde, a second assassin. A literal Femme Fatale.  
I shake my head when Rose reaches for the bottle and she leaves it be. “Been using a rifle for past few months. .50 Cal, custom, Had been relying on this little thing before then though.” I jerk the ring and little finger on my right hand in a practiced, there’s a click, and from my sleeve, a white rod springs out. The Empiricist’s Wand.  
“Oooh, Pretty.” Roxy says, leaning over to my side to get a closer look. “And What’s it do?”  
I roll the wand in my hand, carefully. It’s warm, soft and light. The power beating inside it’s wood and ivory body makes the gold on my rings vibrate a bit. “It’s easy. I point, then it shoots, and whatever was there before is gone. Ashed, or now has a hole the size of a soft ball burned through it.”  
Roxy giggles. “So, it’s like magic?” I’m actually stunned about how accurate that response is to my description. Suddenly, I feel very childish. “So, you’re like a wizard!” she says happily. Something gleams in her eyes, joy. I don’t really know how to respond. 

“I… Uh…. Well, I- I wouldn’t say it’s magic precisely b-” Rose refills my drink, the glass hits the wood loudly, interrupting whatever stupid sentence I was going to string together. 

She speaks for me. “What Eridan is trying to say is, yes. He’s exactly like a wizard.” I push the wand back into my sleeve until I hear the click of the locking mechanism. Roxy’s face keeps a beautiful smile that I can’t help but admire. She checks the time, and her face gets a bit more somber, serious. She slides a black business card over to my side of the bar, written on it is her phone number. 

“Rose, I’m sorry I couldn’t stay for too long, but I have a job tonight.” Roxy looks over to me as I slide her card into my coat pocket. “It was nice meeting you, handsome. Call me if you want to talk business, or if you just get bored.” She winks one more time, then walks out the door. I can feel my face get hotter, with feelings of someone much younger than me. I feel more than a bit vulnerable. 

“She didn’t pay for her drink.” Rose says irritated, but unsurprised. 

I pull out a large bill and leave it on the counter. “This is more than enough for both of us, I think.” I say as I start to leave, and out of the corner of my eye, I think I see Rose smile.


	3. Chapter 3

I meet Vriska in a park one overcast morning. The snow crunches underfoot and the wind is enough to make my face go numb, and she hands me another manila folder and a polaroid picture pale young man with an overbite, looking angry at a street corner, waiting to cross the road with a hand holding a bag of groceries. I know he’s next. She doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t need to. What little is in the folder speaks enough. Another photo of the same guy opening the door to his apartment, holding the same bag of groceries, a torn piece of paper with a phone-number, and an address. Beneath everything else is small sheet of blank stationery watermarked with the empress’s official seal, signifying this contract as above an average high-blood hit. This was a direct order, an execution.

I drive to the target. Climb the stairs until I’m in front of Room 28 on the second floor. I slip on my black gloves. I knock and wait until I hear footsteps and I see the shadows of feet underneath the door, and I can feel someone looking at me through the peephole. I look right back at them and kick the door in. 

The lock and door knob splinter off the wood easy. The kid, the target, crumbles to the ground, with a busted nose he got when the door slammed into him. With tears beginning to run down his cheeks, he mumbles some swear of pain under his breath. I make the movements with my ring and little finger, the wand slides into my hand, and then it’s an inch away from his face. He’s about to demand answers for why I kicked his door in, why I broke his nose, and what exactly I wanted, but then he looks at the wand and his tears of pain become tears of terror. In shock and fear, he starts to beg for his life, tragically. I Ignore his pathetic bullshit, ignore the rambled sentences I’ve heard so many times before. I’m about to put him out of his misery. when I notice the color of blood running down his nose like a gorey faucet. Red, like cherries, like candy. Bright red, the lowest of low blood colors, so far down it’s not even recorded on the spectrum. Like, a human, but he’s not human, he’s one of us. An anomaly of hue, a mutation, and suddenly I know why I was sent to kill him.

At one point in my life, a long time ago, I wouldn’t have hesitated. I wouldn’t have stopped. He’d be stain on the floor, and then it would be over. But, then was not now. It seems I grew a conscience in a second, out of nowhere like it was just another thing to do, and it wasn’t welcomed, and it wasn’t needed. Pointing the rod close to his face, I feel my cold, indifferent expression turn to anger. Where there once was emotionless efficiency, a guard I had made up to distance myself from jobs like these, now there was violent frustration. My protection came tumbling down like the walls of Jericho. I grimace, clicking the wand back into my sleeve. In anger, I pull him up by his shirt collar, then throw him across the room.

He’s light, maybe a hundred and ten pounds soaking wet. Thin and bony, and small. He crashes into his living room coffee table. Magazines, old books, and a cup of coffee hit the floor. I pick him up again and slam him into a wall. The photo frames hanging beside him shake from the impact. “Please, please, I have money. Fuck, man. just take it and go. I won’t tell anyone about this. I swear j-j-just don’t hurt me.” He splutters. 

“They know.” I slam him into the wall again. Picture frames come falling down. I’m so angry, I’m fucking shaking. “They know about your blood.” His face goes blank as more tears run down his pale cheeks. I let him go, and he slides down the wall. 

“You… You.. You’re here because they sent you… because of my blood. You’re here to… to kill me… Oh, fuck. Please, no.”

I pace around the room, rage and panic reaching limits I didn’t know I had. In one second, with one revelation, the entire situation became much more complicated. I couldn’t kill him, he’d done nothing wrong. His name and the information given to me had nothing, no connections. He was your average, boring citizen. No crime, no transgression, no insult. He was to be killed only because his blood was too low to live. I could understand the mentality, the superiority complex needed to declare such a thing, but I couldn’t justify it, not even if I tried. Was it a moment of clarity or insanity? If I didn’t kill him now, and word reached the empire, I would’ve committed treason, punishable by death. I couldn’t afford mercy, I was no saint. I had crossed that line of right and wrong so far back, I can’t even remember when exactly it was I crossed it. The smart thing to do would’ve be to close my eyes, do the job, and forget it ever happened. Some parts of me wished I was the old me. Some parts of me wished I was smart.

“You leave town, tonight.” I tell him as he sits on the floor, curled up in a ball. “You leave and never come back.” He looks at me in disbelief, tears mixing with blood. My fists are still clenched and I’m terrified, but I keep a brave face.

I ask him what his name is, and he chokes out ‘Karkat Vantas.’ And I tell him he’s wrong. 

“Karkat Vantas died tonight. He died in this apartment.. Understand?” I flick out the wand and shoot his coffee table. It explodes into glass shards and burnt wood and the carpet underneath is blackened and burned. “Karkat Vantas is dead, isn’t he?” I continue, and he nods. “Then say it.” 

He swallows and sniffs. “Karkat Vantas is dead.” 

I sheath the wand and start to head to the door. “Clean yourself up, pack a bag, take whatever money you have and run. I’m not going to be responsible for your death, but that doesn’t mean i’m going to be responsible for your life. You’re not my problem, and if I ever see you in Alternia again, I’ll kill you myself.” 

He crawls after me quick, and grabs the back of my coat, When I turn around, he lets go, and moves back. “What if someone catches me?” He asks, and I tell him.

“If you get caught, then you’re dead. Simple as that. And I’ll probably be dead with you.” I leave the apartment without saying another word.

In the car, I gripped my steering wheel so tight, my hands hurt. At every red light, my heart felt like it was going to burst. I had no illusions of heroism. Whatever consequences came from this, I had asked for them. I had done one act of mercy, for reasons I couldn’t even understand. There was no glory in what I’d done. I’m no savior. I’m just a murdering fool who didn’t do his job this time. I had given that kid hope for escape, but in exchange, I might’ve given up mine.


	4. Chapter 4

The dream started with me at the beach, my feet at the shore, waves of cold water splashing on my calves. On the horizon, I can see someone struggling against the water, thrashing, drowning. Immediately, I start to peel off my clothes and dive into the water after them, to save them. As I swim farther and farther, the skies get darker and darker. When I’m close enough to see the persons face, they get pulled under before I can get a good look. I dive in after them, hoping to save them from whatever seamonster has taken them. Underwater, the light streaming from the surface doesn’t go very far before it disappears. The hands of the person are stretched out to me, a mouth moving underwater, soundless screams calling out to me. I dive further down, to what I think is an open trench so deep there’s nothing but an infinite blackness. But, I’m wrong, it’s not a trench. It’s a mouth.

A gaping maw with teeth the size of icebergs and mountain peaks. In it’s center, a long white tentacle has grabbed at the foot of the person I’ve been chasing. It’s Karkat Vantas, and he’s been held under so long he’s drowned. I look up towards the surface to see the light I turned my back on when I dove under. Suspended in the water like morbid bath toys are more and more corpses. Sea creatures and big fish, and whoever was fool enough to swim out here. Victims of the creature, hungry to feed. Enough to keep it sustained for years, but the monster kept killing, wanting more. An entire city’s worth of sacrifices here, waiting to accept me as one of their own. Trying to save Vantas was a stupid mistake. 

A tentacle grabs my leg and drags me down. More tendrils wrap around my torso, neck, and head giving me no chance to escape. I stare at the light dancing on the surface as it slips farther and farther away. Floating among the bodies is a living women, someone who I loved too long ago. Her black hair surrounds her like an ink cloud. She watches the monster take me and does nothing. Then the world disappears when the monster’s teeth close around me and I’m swallowed whole.

I awake in cold sweat, shaking hard and hyperventilating. After a cold shower, I take a cocktail of sleeping pills and painkillers, staring at my window and wondering how long I’m going to be safe from the monster or from the women who sends people to it.


	5. Chapter 5

My evenings with her are spent at expensive restaurants, dancing, drinking, or on her couch, watching whatever comes on television, whatever film she got from a friend, or reading with each other near by. And if we aren’t out on the town, spending our bounties and trying to be alive as possible, or inside enjoying each other’s company, we had ourselves in the bedroom. At night, there’s sweat, hot air, and ecstasy. In the morning, there’s scratches mapped on our skin, light bruises, and red bite marks. When we sleep together, I don’t have nightmares.

There’s something about her. Something striking that leaves me helpless. It could be the sense of humor, or the pretty face. The shared interests, or perhaps shared experience with death. Sometimes when I hold her, she smells of cotton candy and happiness, other times she smells of gunpowder and bad memories. 

We never talk about our jobs, but I still imagine what she might be like when she’s working. Does she love it? Does she hate it? There’s something behind her beautiful eyes, something painful and terrifying. Something she doesn’t want me to know, something she won’t let me see, but knows I’ve seen before. Is it guilt or merciless satisfaction? Does her heart race with excitement when she pulls a trigger, or does she lose her breath because the gunshots just won’t stop? Or does she feel nothing at all? I eventually drop the thoughts. Even If she would give me the answer, I’d still be too scared to ask, and too scared to know.

One afternoon, I get a high priority target. Someone who was expected to try to leave town and needed to be taken care of ASAP. I stop my car in the parking lot of some old housing complex, a slum. It’s snowing again and I start to wonder if anybody in this town owns a house. From what Vriska told me, the client didn’t care how I did it, but as much as I wanted to perform my habit of camping out in a vantage point and sniping the target, time wouldn’t give me the luxury. All I take was the wand, and with it, all I’d leave at the murder scene is a bloody smear. 

I take the elevator to the 25th floor, rickety, old, and dirty. Several of the elevator’s buttons had been broken off and the doors closed crooked. After stepping out, I saw that the hallways were in the same state of disrepair. Plaster had been breaking off the graffiti painted walls. The filthy carpeting was stained with who-knows-what. The fluorescent lights flickered and buzzed, and a bum slept by the stairwell. The ones who lived here don’t do it because they wanted a low rent. They did it because they were desperate. These ones barely had thing to their name. The lowest rung on the ladder, the bottom of the pile.

I find the room I’m looking for and knock on the door. No answer, but no time to lose. I kick it open and step inside, my wand waiting in my sleeve ready to draw and fire, but the apartment is empty, completely empty. No one inside, and no sign of any one had been living there in months. No furniture, no furnishings. The walls were bare, the floor was dusty, and the windows had been boarded up. Then the sound of a shotgun cocking behind my head confirmed my suspicions. My dreams had become a prophecy, but it was only a matter of time, I guess.

“Walk two steps forward, then turn around. Move too fast and the walls get painted with purple, get me?” He says, and I do as I’m told. With the wand still up my sleeve, the probability of being able to draw it and blast my ambusher before he could pull his trigger were small, but I’m no fool, at least not when I have gun literally to my head.

Our new player in this little game was shorter than me, maybe by about three inches, with a black suit and a canary yellow tie. His sunglasses, with one blue lens and one red lens, hid whatever his stare would tell me. Holding his sawed-off 12 gauge in steady hand, he asks me “Are you Eridan Ampora, Imperial Assassin and High-blood of the violet caste?” The formality of his question makes me think he’s reading from some invisible script. 

“I don’t think so. I mean, not anymore.” I answer.

The shotgun barrel isn’t close enough to make my eyebrows catch fire, but it’s close enough to make my head resemble a watermelon after it’s been hit with a sledgehammer. I can feel a beat of sweat run down my nose. Time slows down as my brain starts to understand I’m close to death. I move to the right, grab the shotgun with my left hand and push it away. He fires, missing and hitting the wall behind me. My gloved left hand burns from the heat of the hot barrel. With my right hand, I hit him twice across the jaw, then I drive my elbow into his throat and push him back until we’re out of the apartment and back into the hall. 

Slamming him into the hallway wall, I hit him with more right jabs. He doesn’t let go of the gun until I crash my elbow into his nose. I grab his weapon with both hands then hit him in the jaw again with the butt of the shotgun. His glasses hit the floor, and I hear them crack when we step over them with struggling feet.

I throw the gun across the hall, then grab him by his jacket lapel and throw him at the opposite end, by the stairs. At this point, the bum sleeping there before has run off. My assassin tries to compose himself on the railing, but I don’t give him the chance. I grab him by the hair, and hit him twice more in the face, before he manages to wrap his hands around my neck, over my scarf. He uses the chance to get back on his feet, pushing me against the spot of railing where it curves down, the edge of 25 floors of spiral stairs. The lack of oxygen from an almost crushed windpipe makes me feel like I’m about to pass out. 

I headbutt him, then kick him in the pelvis, and it’s enough to have him let go and move back until he hits the wall opposite of where I’m standing. For one second, I get a good look at him. His jaw swollen, probably broken. A bloody mouth full of chipped teeth, torn gums, and maybe a tongue slightly bitten off. He reaches into his jacket, now rippled and torn at the shoulder, and pulls out a pistol from it’s holster. I slide out my wand at the same time, and we have a second long duel like old-time cowboys. He fires and so do I. He misses entirely, but I don’t. His bullet whizzes past my ear, my bolt doesn’t hit him directly, but it grazes his eyes, burning them in white hot light, blinding him. He screams curses in pain, trying to cover his eyes. He stumbles, he falls, tumbling down the stairs with the grace of a bowling ball. I don’t look down until the thumping sounds stop. When I see him, he’s laying face down, two floors below, not moving. A pool of honey colored blood is growing where his head is.

I collect myself and get the fuck out of there as soon as possible. At the parking lot, I take the duffel bag of rifle pieces out of the trunk, then toss the keys in a garbage bin. Above me, the gray skies of this morning, have turned dark and more snow has started to come down. There’s a storm coming, my god, there’s a storm coming.


	6. Chapter 6

Above frosted alleys, streets, and cars, on the top floor of a building made up of over-priced lofts, Vriska slept soundly on silk sheets. On her windows, a hard wind and snow skipped across, covering her balcony with white. I dial her number on my phone, and her cell, laying on her nightstand, jolts her awake. She turns over and picks it up. The glowing blue screen illuminates her sleepy eyes, and her face with no make-up. She sits up in her bed and answers the phone with a drowsy “Hello?”

“Vriska,” I say, “we need to talk.” 

She yawns and asks “Eridan? Do you have any idea what time it is? And this is my personal phone anyway, how’d you even get this number?” 

The cold is biting at my lips, I tighten the scarf around my neck and reply “You gave it to me when we dated. I knew you never changed it, I just never had any reason to call until now.”   
She puts the phone in between her cheek and shoulder, and tried to rub the sleep out of her eyes. “Well, what are you calling for Eridan?” 

“I need to ask you about a job, today’s job.” 

She pauses, then her voices raises in tone. “You’re talking about business and it couldn’t wait until tomorrow, and you’re talking about it on my PERSONAL phone!? What the FUCK is wrong with you!?” 

I ignore her anger and say “He was waiting for me.” 

She doesn’t reply for a second and then says “Yea, I told you he might be expecting someone to come and-” 

“I didn’t say he was expecting someone. I said he was waiting for me. The yellow blood was waiting for Eridan Ampora, for me, specifically. If you knew as much, why didn’t you tell me when you gave me the fucking file!?” Her mouth is stuck open slightly, her expression surprised. She shakes her head slightly, but is totally speechless. “Answer me.” I tell her

. “Eridan… I don’t know.” 

“Don’t… give me that. Don’t just sit there, shaking your head like an idiot. Tell me the fucking truth, please.” 

Her eyes get wide, and she looks out her window. “Erdian,” she asks. “Where are you right now?” I cock a round into the rifle chamber. The unmistakable sound of the gun is enough of an answer for her. 

“Don’t move.” I say, keeping my scope trained in between her ribcage. “Vriska, out of all the people in this city, I thought you were one of the few I could trust. But, I’m not so stupid as to think a backstab is beyond you.” I move the scope over to where her left leg would be under the covers. “Today, you didn’t tell me everything you knew, you walked me into a trap, and I almost got killed, and now, you’re lying to me. So, from now on, the only things you’re going to tell me are going to be the truth, or I’m going to hurt you.” Her mouth closes, scared, and she nods.

I had never seen Vriska afraid before, but that night she had every reason to be. That night she sat in between the barrels of two guns, mine and the Empress’s. Feferi was gentle once, calm, loving even, but the years of unchallenged authority had made her just as violent and malevolent as any matriarch before her. If she thought the information Vriska gave up to me was enough to find her guilty of high-treason, like me, she’d be green lit before the end of tommorrow night. And if that was the case, Vriska would have to hope that whoever was sent would make it quick.

If she was brought in, she would be tortured, humiliated, and used as a horror story against anyone else dumb enough to work against the empire. They’d her other arm, her other eye. If my former job was the equivalent of getting rid of problem children, what could happen to Vriska would be the grimm fairy tales you tell to scare them in submission. Still, it was only a possibility that something like that would happen though. There was a chance Ferferi might show her leniency for years of faithful service, but I wouldn’t give her any such mercy if she didn’t give me what I wanted.

“I… I got a letter from The Empress, telling me you had defaulted on one of your contracts, working against the empire for your own reasons, and that it was my job was Imperial Spymistress to… retire you.”

“So, you had me ambushed?”

“No. The letter only talked about giving you one last job… She gave me a target, a location, and the amount of money you’d be getting paid. She told me you were wanted but, she didn’t say anything about a summary execution.”

I came here looking for answers, but Feferi knew well enough not to tell her anything vital, and if she didn’t tell the Imperial Spymistress, the one in charge of such information, she didn’t tell anyone at all. I tell Vriska to stop, that I’d heard enough and that anything else would be straight-up treason. Over the phone, I could hear the unmistakable sounds of someone who was going to start to cry, either through fear, sorrow, or guilt. I tell her to hang up the phone and to go back to sleep, to lie down, close her eyes, forget I ever called, and forget what we talked about. She asks me what I’m going to do next and if I’m going to die soon. When the question presents itself to you so plainly, any illusions to the contrary, any feelings of denial, get thrown out the window. I don’t say anything. I just hang up. 

Through the scope, I see her throw her phone across the room in sad frustration. She turns over on her sheets and I swear I can hear the sounds of muffled, angry tears in my head. Vriska may be an arrogant bitch, but she was on the list of people I cared about, a list that slowly has been getting shorter over the years, and I hoped I was on her list as well. Whatever feelings that were once between Vriska and I are dead. From the fact that I threatened her and from the fact that I’m almost guaranteed to die in the next few hours. The act of holding her hostage for answers was cruel, low, and mean. I had never seen Vriska scared before, and worse it was because she was scared of me, and scared for me.


	7. Chapter 7

When I was a boy, my father always used to tell me that everybody has their stations in life. Who they are and who they were meant to be. He would say that everyone, no matter the blood color, no matter where they come from, has their own path to walk, but the truth is I’ve always felt mine was always chiseled out for me. I was born to the second highest caste, heir to second in command of the Empress and as such, I had expectations put on me since before I could speak. I was royalty, above all the rest, but second to the matriarch. It was drilled in me, tattooed into my skull, the idea of loyalty to my future Empress and to her regime. My life was to come second to her reign. Every breath I took was to serve her, to serve the empire, to serve all of us, and if my blood was to spill for the common good, I was to supposed to suffer with a smile.

When we were young, Feferi and I would play on the warm sands on the beach outside the Imperial Palace. Spending every day together, from sunrise to sunset. Swimming in the dark waters, collecting sea-shells, smiling, and laughing as children should. Back then, everyday felt like summer. Now, it’s so cold I think I’ve forgotten what the sun feels like.

On her coronation day, I could already feel our relationship strain and break. I was promoted to Imperial Privateer and Advisor, but soon Feferi thought it was ‘a waste my talent’. She demoted me Imperial Spymaster, to monitor the citizens and report any conspiracy or treason against the high-bloods. The positions of Privateer and Advisor were never filled after me. After all, there were no wars to be fought and the empress knew all, so what would be the purpose for having a great general? 

Eventually Vriska took my position as Spymaster, a place that fit her more sinister behavior like a glove. I was demoted to Imperial Assassin, taking the spot that Equius inherited. He didn’t have the finesse that I had. He was rough, he was loud, and he was more useful for extortion and intimidation. He became an enforcer, a goon, and I became a hired gun, some spirit of death and vengeance on lease. The only one to never get her job changed was the lowest of the high-bloods, Terezi, kept on as the High Legislator both because of her ruthless efficiency and almost no participation in politics. I tell all of this to Roxy, as I sit on her kitchen floor, drinking her apple-flavored vodka out of the bottle, like a drunk. She’s sitting across from me, leaning against her fridge, quietly listening. I tell her I’m sorry, and she asks why, and I say I’m sorry because now that I’ve come to her, looking for a place to hide, if anyone saw me, I've just put her life in serious danger.

“Don’t worry about me, babe.” She says, “You forget, you’re not the only killer in this room. I can handle myself just fine.” The lights in her hotel suite are all off, the door is locked, but sit on the ground and away from the windows just in case. “If there’s anything you should be thinking about, it’s what you’re going to do now. Like, have you given any thought on where you can hide out until the heat dies down? A place where you can disappear... forever if you have to?” I screw the top onto the half empty bottle and shake my head to answer no. “Well, you know my jobs in Alternia are almost all dry. I don’t really have much of a reason to stick around here besides Rose… and you. If you need some place to go, you can always come with me.”

The thought of waking up in some warm bed with Roxy next to me, of strong drinks and passionate sex, felt like heaven to my cold bones. Walk away, a voice said in my head, leave now, just get out. It would be so easy, but it wouldn’t be realistic. Even if I manage to make past the city limits, every single day of my life, I’d have to watch my back, look over my shoulder. Never stay in the same place for an extended period of time. Any hopes we might have for the future, or plans for tomorrow, we’d never be able to reach them. At any second, I could get a gun barrel jammed between my teeth. I could sleep some place and never wake up. Running wasn’t a solution. All it did was change the situation from ‘if and maybe’ to ‘how and when’. 

“Roxy,” I say, crawling on all fours to hold her. “I want nothing more than to run away with you, but you and I both know we won’t get very far.” She comes into my arms and her warmth feels like rubbing alcohol on my wounds. There’s a sadness resonating off of her that makes me feel like there’s a hole in my stomach thats stretching by the second. “They own this town. They own me, and now they just don’t like me anymore.”

“So, if you’re not going to leave… what are you going to do?” She asks, the sadness in her eyes reminding me of a hurt puppy. With my back against the wall, I can’t simply wait for my execution. You can’t stand your ground when an entire army is looking for you. Pushed onto the edge of the precipice, I have no choice, but to push back.

“Feferi and I are in too deep, we go back too far. I had hoped that we would live happily together once, but now we both know how it’s going to end. In misery, and pain, and death.” This was suicidal, but I was already hopeless. “I’m going to have to kill the empress.”


	8. Chapter 8

After leaving Roxy’s place, I make my way to a gym downtown. I make Roxy promise she wouldn’t follow me. Her help would be useful, but this fight is between me and the high-bloods, and if I were to lose, I don’t want to imagine what they would do to her. I walk alone with Ahab’s Crosshairs stowed in my bag, wand up my sleeve. The snow and rain has stopped, but the moon is still blocked by a wall of black clouds. A trail of streetlamps lights my way through the dark of night.

When I get to the gym, it’s deserted. All lights are off and it’s silently empty, except for a small weight room with only one occupant. The walls of the room are covered with mirrors. Three weight-lifting machines are set in the cramped little space. Racks of dumbbells sit in a corner next to a rack of bows and arrow quivers to practice archery in another room down the hall. Signs reminding gym members of company policy and courtesy are all over the door. Walking through the door, the man I’ve come to see is hunched over on a bench and doing dumbbell curls. He looks up at me, eyes hidden behind black sunglasses, teeth cracked and broken. I walk over to him, and he stands up. I drop my bag on the floor, and lock the door behind me. 

He’s built like a stallion. At least six inches taller than me, and much thicker. A body sculpted into hard muscle wearing a black tank-top and gym shorts. “Equius,” I say, readying the wand in my hand “Today has been a very, very long day. You already know why I’m here don’t you?” 

“I know what you have done, high-blood, or rather what you have not done. Why you dare to come to me now, I do not know or understand.” He speaks in between deep, loud breathes.

“I need to see Feferi, Equius, and I know that you are one of the only ones who know where to find her.” The tradition of chain of command, royalty ordering nobility, nobility ordering the commoners, is something I’ve not taken serious in years. The fact I was born a prince, and did the dirty work of those born below me, proved the system invalid. To be honest, the only part of it I could believe is that someone used to being a submissive lapdog would believe it. Someone like Equius. “I’m ordering you Equius, as your superior, to stand down, to give me what I want, and to not follow me. I am a prince, and you are my vassal. Stand down or I will make you lay down.”

“You are a Judas, High-blood. You have betrayed our castes and shamed the empire by failing eliminate the gutter-blood who would pollute our people with his mutation. You are weak, high-blood, a traitor. You are below the lowest of our people for this offense, You have no position to order me.”

“You resist me now Equius… And for that I will break you.” A fight with a man with the strength of a greek hero and the temper of a bull wasn’t what I wanted, but if I couldn’t avoid it, so be it. I drop my wand to the floor, and crack my knuckles behind my leather gloves.The only way to drive home my superiority to him is to defeat him, to humiliate him on equal ground.

He throws the dumbbell in his right hand, but I sidestep and hits the door. I run at him, tackling him, shoving him into the mirror wall behind him. The glass panel cracks on impact. He swings at me with long, wide punches, but I duck and he hits nothing. Going for his kidneys, I land quick, hard jabs, then move up to his jaw and face. I give him a right hook that makes his glasses go flying, then I slam his head into the wall, making him go to his knees. But, a second later he gets back up, driving a shoulder into my gut, strong enough to get my feet off the ground, and then turns me around, ramming me into his spot on the wall.

The wind is completely knocked out of me and back feels like it’s been crushed by a steam roller. Glass that I had previously shattered, explodes off the wall. Shards follow me as I slide down to the floor. The second my ass touches the carpet, he grabs the label of my jacket and shoves me again into the wall. He throws an underhanded left punch into my abdomen, then tries to follow up with a cross right punch to my head. I’m dazed, probably bleeding internally, but still lucid enough to make my body respond. I dodge at the last second. His fist hits the bit of wall my face was just at, going straight through the glass and the plaster and like it was tissue paper.

With his hand through the wall, I take the opportunity to kick his knee underneath him. He slips down, I knee him in the nose, and I can feel it give as it breaks. He frees his hand from the wall. Dark blue blood runs down his forearm and his face, mixing with beads of gross sweat. He lets out a low roar like some wild animal, grabs my jacket and with little effort, picks me up and throws me across the room. I lose my breath again when my back hits the steel frame of a weight machine. When I land on the gym carpet, I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck.

When you’re fighting with someone who’s just as experienced as you are, it becomes mechanical. You use what you have, you give as much as you can receive, but right now, I know I won’t win if the fight keeps going like this. He’s crafted himself for war. He can crush my skull with nothing but his bare hands and brute force. He’s smart too, smart enough to know exactly where to hit me where it’ll hurt. But, he’s reckless and he’s angry. What happened to hand is the perfect proof of that. His rage is his weakness. Once he’s mad enough, he’ll lose himself, and that’s what I want.

“You’re weak, traitor. Weak, just like the low-bloods. For your disloyalty, I’ll break your limbs and shatter your spine, then I’ll bring your broken body to her Highness, where she can spit on you.” He tells me when stomps heavily on my back.

When he finally stops, and I struggle to breath, but I manage to say “Sure, and I’ll still be better than you…” He grabs me by neck with one hand, lifting to me to look in his blood splattered face. 

“What did you say, worm?”

“You weren’t strong enough to resist when they made you kill Aradia, even though she was better than the ones bossing you around, and you didn’t lift a finger when they exiled Nepeta. So tell me, Equius, what exactly are you good for? ” He grits his broken teeth, and his hand tightens around my throat. It would be easy and smart to just snap my neck, but he wasn’t thinking smart anymore.

He closes his sliced up hand into a fist, but in that same moment, I kick at his stomach, then throw a punch at his broken nose. He growls in sudden pain, dropping me to try to cover the bloody mess. Immediately, I go for his wounded arm, grabbing hold of it with both hands, getting behind him and pulling it with me. I kick him in between the shoulder blades, driving him to his knees, then I pull. I pull and twist his arm, bending it at the worst angle, as hard I can manage, until I hear the crack and the pop.

He screams. I let go of his arm, then stomp him in the back of the head. When he falls face first on the carpet, I grab his left leg and repeated the process. He tries to stop me, turning over, kicking with his other leg, but I snap his tibia before he can shake me off. I don’t stop there. I climb on top him, and slam blow after blow into his face, then I stand up, and stomp his head in again and again. 

At this point, he’s not moving, but I can hear his exhausted breathing, and from the small pained whimpers he’s making, I know he’s still conscious. I grab a bow and an arrow from the corner. Standing on top of him, my foot on his neck, I ready the arrow, aiming for his forehead.”Do you yield, Vassal?” I ask, and there’s a look of failure and self-loathing in his eyes when he nods his battered head in defeat. “Where is she?”

He points a finger on his non-broken hand to a gym bag sitting across the room and mutters the word ‘phone’. I move my aim over slightly, let the arrow go, and it hits him in the left shoulder. He makes a low groan of pain, then I tell him to pull it out if he can. I zip open the gym bag and find a large, heavy-duty construction workers phone. Under the contacts, I find her number under ‘Highness’. I call it, and after 2 rings, even at this time of night, she answers.

“Yes?” She asks.

I pause. I swallow. A strange sort of anxiety lurks its way through my body until it reaches my voice and I have to work to keep myself from stuttering.“Evening, Feferi.”

“....Eridan… What did you do with Equius?” She exhales.

Looking at the beaten mess of made of him, as he limply tries to tug the arrow out with his non-busted arm, I say “He’s alive. He’ll walk with limp from now on, and he’ll have to eat through a straw for the next few months, but he’s alive.”

“You didn’t think killing him would be a better option?” Her coldness doesn’t surprise me.

“There’s no point. He knows it would be right to fear me. Regardless, this is just between you and I now. We’re the only two people left.”

“So, you want to settle this?”

“You haven’t left me any other choice. Right now, it’s you or me.”

“The beach then. You know the one. Come alone, in one hour, and so will I. I’ll be waiting.” then she hangs up.


	9. Chapter 9

After picking up my weapons and leaving the gym, I hotwire a car and head west, to the site of the old imperial palace, before it was partially torn down, and left as an old stone and marble reminder of dead history. The beach, with sand that was once golden and water that was once near-transparent blue, has been replaced by a desolate thing with dark brown mud and black, semi-frozen water. Sitting on boulder we kept trying to climb as kids, but was always too big for us, is Ferferi.

I look around for any of her bodyguards, only to find we are the only two around for as far as the I can see. I wasn’t sure there wasn’t a sniper or two perched on the cliffs above the beach, but even if there was, they wouldn’t be able to stop me from killing the empress in time. Even if they were to blow my brains out the next second, it would be enough of a victory to get that far.

Theres a curtain of long black hair that extends down her back. Gold and jeweled bangles run down her arms. Heavy necklaces, amulets, and pendants are sitting around her neck. In her arms is a golden trident. On her head, rested a tiara. Her long, silky skirt was colored light blue and green. Her top was the darkest black. When my footsteps crack with every movement on the beach, she turns and looks at me. Our eyes meet, and I’m reminded of all the bad things that I did to get here.

“Is the rifle really all you have left, Eri?” she asks, curious.

“Besides the clothes on my back, yeah. I never had the chance to go back to my loft.” I saw, dropping the bag on the sand.

“And it was good you didn’t. I had four agents waiting at your door, armed, and ordered to shoot on sight.” She says, matter-of-factly, before hopping off the boulder about a yard and a half in front of me, knee deep in the freezing water. The sky has lightened from black to dark blue. Dawn is it’s way.

“So, this is where we choose to die?” I ask, looking out to the empty horizon. “On a cold beach, with no one to mourn.”

“Who gets to mourn depends on who survives. I chose this place because I thought it was only fitting to end where it really began.” She says, twirling the trident in her hands like baton.

“Years of orders, the people I’ve murdered... I’m starting to think I should’ve rebelled sooner, if it was always meant to come to this..”

“It’s a question of inevitability, Eridan. No matter how far things go, or how different they seem…”

“They always have the same end result… We, who are about to die, salute you.”

She moves too fast and I don’t catch her in time. She lunges with the trident in hand, and suddenly there’s pain, and my insides are on fire. I look down and she’s impaled me through the midsection. She recoils the trident back, and I’m in more pain. The prongs on the trident tug onto my body when she pulls it out. Violet blood has soaked her weapon and is gushing down my front. She steps back, further into the water, spinning the trident once more, a look of fury on her face. I draw my wand, and the second before she lunges again, I fire.

She stops mid-lunge. Her expression goes from violent to scared. There’s the sound of something splashing into the water, dunking like a mop in a bucket. We both look down at the a hole she’s got through her chest, right at the sternum, the size of a softball. It’s burned at the edges and it’s oozing bright purple blood. She drops the trident and it vanishes in the dark water. She looks back up to me, and she’s weeping painful tears. Something in her eyes looks like regret, then they go dull. Her legs toppled from under her, and she falls into the shallow water.

Holding my abdomen, which feels like it’s leaking everything vital it holds, I pull myself off the beach. On the walk to my stolen ride, I call Roxy. I tell we’re safe now, I tell we can get away. I say I won, but I say it between erratic breathes, with a light head. I’m losing too much blood, too fast, and I tell her that too. In the car, I slam the gas and ignore all speed limits on the long stretch of road between the beach and the city. I have at least an hour or two before I bleed to death, but I don’t know how long I have until I lose consciousness. I keep Roxy on call, hoping her words can hold off death long enough for me to get help.

When I get back to city, it’s the early morning. The sunlight is breaking through blockades of clouds I got tired of seeing. I leave the car with the driver’s door wide open, engine running in hospital parking lot. I leave a violet blood trail from the car to the emergency room entrance. Some concerned people are staring. Dragging myself in, I tell the nurse up front that I need a doctor. When she runs off to get more staff, I tell Roxy on the phone, where I am. A second later and I fall to the floor. Everything goes black.

When I wake up, Roxy’s in my hospital room, opening the blinds and letting some sunlight in. IVs and Violet blood packs are connected to my arm with rubber hoses. The cold, empty feeling in my torso is gone, but I feel sore and stiff from dressings applied to stop the bleeding. “Morning, hun.” She says, smiling, but her eyes still worried.. “Is it really over?” I nod. The last mental images I have of Feferi dead in the water flash in my head.

“The nobles are going to be too pre-occupied about who will replace the late empress to give a shit about us. Now, we just need to get out while the chaos ensues.” I say.

“And once the fires settle?” She asks.

“Feferi was the only one with any authority who was out to get me. Now, that she’s gone, who’s going to care?”

“So, where do you want to go?”

“I don’t know. This city is fucked, but it’s the only home I know… but, I guess it doesn’t matter, not as long as you’re with me.”

Her smile lowers to something softer, happy. “Go to back to sleep, hun. You’re going to need the rest.” She says, and she’s right. She closes the blinds again, it gets dim enough for my eyes to fall easy. When I sleep this time, I don’t dream. I don’t dream of monsters or death. I don’t dream of cold faces or spent shell cases. I hope I never see those things again. My mind sees nothing at all really, nothing but the void in my head, and that feels so much better.


End file.
